The Noble House of Black
by CeeSixAychTwelveOhSix
Summary: A collection of oneshots from various points of veiw... all members of the Black family tree.
1. Andromeda

**A/N:** So this is something I wrote a while ago on another site and decided to post here. I just posted chapter 2 on the other site (but validation takes forever) so I thought I'd put it up here. I don't own the characters, settings, blah diddy blah blah blah.

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I write this on my final night at the Black Manor. At midnight tonight, when I turn seventeen and am officially of age in the wizarding world, I leave to move in with Ted and his parents. I don't regret this decision at all. I have to keep reminding myself of that as my mind clouds up with doubt.

I'm not exactly sure when it was that I realized how twisted my family was. I understood it fully after my first year at Hogwarts, but I suppose I was always uneasy about our beliefs- no. _Their_ beliefs. They are not mine. I know the truth now. But back to my story.

My family is... well, a traditional pureblood family. They believe they are better than all non-pure families. When I was a child, one of my many uncles explained it to me as having pride. "We are of a noble bloodline," he had told me. "We don't want to spoil our nobility, so we only associate with other pure families." I had nodded my head as if I'd understood, but as a five-year-old girl I had no concept of pride or nobility. And, as I was later to learn, my family is as far from noble as possible.

My parents weren't exactly proud of me when I received my Hogwarts letter, although they weren't angry either. It was just to be expected that I would be accepted; everyone in the family was magical. The people who weren't... well, they weren't part of the family any more. My little sister, Bellatrix, was so excited for me, though. Her six years of age to my eleven made it seem, at least to her, that I knew everything and could do no wrong. I think this sort of idol-worship led to jealousy, which would explain why our relationship deteriorated so easily. She always wanted to do everything like me: dress like me, talk like me, attend the same parties, have the same friends; she once got hold of our mother's wand and tried to charm her hair and eyes blonde and blue respectively to match mine. Her hair was green for weeks.

To say that everyone was upset when I sent them the happy news that I had been sorted into Gryffindor would be an understatement. When I received the howler at breakfast, only the third day of school, I was devastated. What had I done wrong? I had _tried_ to choose good friends, people I thought were "noble". The people I saw in Slytherin were arrogant, rude, and cruel, even to someone who was related in one way or another to most of them. The people I saw at school weren't the same people I saw at parties and family functions. They were changed, and not for the better. I had sent a letter to my family, begging them to tell me what I'd done wrong. The only answer I'd gotten was that I had disgraced them for not getting into Slytherin and that I shouldn't count on someone being there to pick me up at the station if I decided to come home for Christmas and Easter.

I met Ted that year after it was found that I was useless at potions. Professor Slughorn contacted him to be my tutor. For any normal person, it would have been a drag to tutor a shy little girl two years your junior, but Ted was able to make anything he did seem fun. He seemed to actually enjoy spending his time with me in a smelly dungeon, at that made _me_ enjoy it. What's more, he wanted to be my friend, not just the boy who tutored me. There I was conflicted. Ted was muggle-born. And while I didn't have any problem with that, I knew that if my family found out, they would be angry with me. I had heard the stories of the "blood-traitors" in the family from my cousins, and I knew that accepting Ted's friendship would put me on the list of blacked-out names on the Black family tree. But finally, Ted's easy smile and the never-ending child's hope that my family would still love me won out over the fear of being ostracized.

That summer was the most heartbreaking and horrifying experience in my lifetime. It cured me of any affection I'd had for my family and dashed every hope of acceptance I'd held on to. And yet, at the same time, it made me strong. I knew that every time my father hit me, every time my mother screamed at me until I fled from the room, every time I heard Bella telling our baby sister, Narcissa, stories of how horrible I was, I was the better person. I would never have done that to my child. I would never have said that about either of my sisters, especially when I knew it wasn't true. And when I met up with Ted in Diagon Alley the week before school started and he saw my bruises, I knew that I didn't need my family to feel loved. I had a friend, and that was enough for me.

Growing up in school, I was the girl who rolled with the punches. I never caused trouble, I was always on time for class, I had the ear that was ready to listen to everyone. At home over the summer, I was rebellious to a fault. I did anything and everything to undermine my parents and my aunts and uncles. My cousins were my rivals, and my sisters were to be avoided at all costs. No longer did Bella try to be like me; instead, she did everything in her power to be the exact opposite of me, and she taught Narcissa to do the same. Cissy got her looks from our mother, just as I had, and I think Bella was just as jealous of her as she used to be of me. So all of her time and energy went into making sure she had power over our baby sister. Needless to say, there was no love lost between us when Bella started school when I was in my fifth year and she was landed in Slytherin.

That year of school was the most worrisome for me. It was Ted's seventh year, and after it was over, I would have no true friends at Hogwarts. But it wasn't just that; inevitably, I had developed feelings for my best friend, and I wasn't sure if he returned them. I was afraid to ask. We had dated a little the year before, but it hadn't been anything serious; just a trip to Hogsmeade and a few walks around the grounds. I had decided I wasn't quite ready for a relationship and Ted had agreed that we should stay friends for the time being. "For the time being" was what had me nervous in my fifth year. Did it mean that he wanted to pursue something, or was he just being polite? Thankfully he answered that question for me on Christmas of that year; he blew away all of my expectations by admitting that he loved me and giving me a promise ring. We dated for the rest of the year, ignoring his friends' teasing comments about him being a cradle robber and me just waiting for him to keel over so I could collect his insurance money. When the Hogwarts Express unloaded its passengers at Platform 9 ¾ at the end of the year, Ted introduced me to his parents as his future wife and they still offered me a place to live as soon as I was of age.

The ensuing summer and school year seemed to go by in a fog. I ignored my family as much as possible and focused on my studies almost exclusively, which worried some of the professors. Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall actually forced me to leave the common room and get some fresh air during finals preparation. But finally the year was through. All I had to wait for was the middle of July, and then I would be able to start my new life.

Which is what I am waiting for right now. My parents don't know what I'm planning to do; they aren't interested in what I do, as long as I stay out of their way. They probably won't even notice that I'm gone for days. As I think about it now, I only regret two things. I wish I didn't have to leave Cissy behind. She's only eight years old. She doesn't know anything other than what Bella and our other family members have told her. When I'm around her, I don't get the feeling that she is truly twisted like the rest of the family; just misguided, and she's more vain than anything else. And I wish I could take my little cousin with me. He's Cissy's age, but he's so different from her. From anyone in our family. He reminds me of me. If anyone is going to break the mold, it's Sirius. Who knows? Maybe he'll be able to change his mother and father. Maybe his little brother will follow his example. I can only hope for the best.

I just looked at the clock on my bedside table. I am now officially an adult and can live on my own. Any minute now, Ted will be here to apparate me to his home. With this first entry in this diary, I hope to start a new, better life for myself. I hope that I can set an example for my family and show them that maybe, just maybe, they're wrong. I doubt that will happen, though. I know they will always see me as mad. And perhaps I am mad. But I'd rather be mad than be like the rest of my family.


	2. Draco

The Atrocities of Draco Malfoy

I am a murderer. I am a Death Eater. I am a coward.

That's what they think.

Always so quick to judge. Notice how they like to focus the blame on someone else. Anyone else. None of this was their fault. They're innocent. No one to blame but me. The bad guy.

I ask you: if someone you cared about, someone you loved more than anyone else in the entire world, if they were in danger, wouldn't you do anything in your power to save them?

Even if it meant going against everything you believed in?

I was not raised to be a Death Eater. I was not groomed to follow in the footsteps of my father, as so many people seem to think. When I was younger, I asked my father what the mark on his arm meant. He sent me from the room without a word. I asked my mother, and she explained to me as gently as possible that before I was born, there was a man who believed in the purity of blood. He gathered together followers that shared his views and began to cleanse the wizarding population. My father was one of these followers.

I asked, what happened to the man?

He's gone now, she replied. He lost control of his power and now his followers are either in jail or reformed.

Why are they in jail, I asked?

Because people didn't understand them, she answered. People thought they were wrong and didn't want to let them continue doing what they had been. So they were in jail.

Can I be one of the followers, I asked? If Father was one, I want to be one.

No. Mother was now angry for some reason. She told me that I could not be one, and to stop asking questions.

Years later, I finally understood what Mother had been explaining to me. Voldemort was a killer. He killed muggles and mudbloods because they were unfit. They were dirty. They didn't deserve to live. Father had supported that view in his youth and continued to do so after the second rising.

Mother did not want that for me.

Do what you will, Father told me. Just don't dishonor the Malfoy name.

Be safe, Mother whispered in my ear. Don't risk your neck. Stay as close to neutral as you can.

I should have listened to Mother. Were it not for my thirst to prove myself to Father, I would not be in this situation.

After the Dark Lord rose again, I began delving deeper and deeper into the dark arts. I wanted to be as proficient in them as I could. I wanted to be in Voldemort's inner circle. Most of all, I wanted to make Father proud.

I dug myself in too deep.

After Father was sent to Azkaban, Voldemort called me to him. He told me that I was ready to become a Death Eater and serve at his right hand, take my father's place. As initiation, I would have to prove my allegiance to him.

I would have to kill.

I was hesitant. Up until this point, I had wanted this. More than anything. But now I was beginning to question. I was only sixteen; what if someone found out that I had murdered? My entire life would be ruined. I'd be in prison with my father. Not to mention the fact that deep down, I was scared. I admit it; I was frightened out of my mind. I didn't want to kill anyone. Sure, I'd entertained thoughts of taking out Potter when his back was turned, but in all reality I admired him. He was stronger than most people gave him credit for. People respected him because he was good. I wanted that strength. I wanted that respect. I didn't want to be thought of as evil for the rest of my life.

Then the suggestion was reworded. Kill, or be killed. My mother would be, too.

I had no choice. My assignment: to kill Albus Dumbledore.

The only man who had ever accepted me for what I was, not because he was intimidated by my family's wealth or background. Not because he was indebted in some way or another to my father.

He saw good in me.

And I had to kill him. It was that, or my mother would be killed. I didn't really care about myself; leave my corpse to the buzzards, for all I care. But my mother...

She is the only person who has ever loved me.

I did it for her.

Only I couldn't even do it. Snape had to do it. So I guess I'm just as cowardly as everyone makes me out to be. Just as weak.

And maybe I am a murderer. I might as well be, anyway. It was my job. If it hadn't been for me, Albus Dumbledore would still be alive.

And maybe I am a Death Eater. After all, there is a tattoo on my arm.

But a tattoo doesn't dictate what I am. And an assignment does not dictate what I do.

They think I'm evil.

I suppose they also think that there is only good and bad. Black and White.

They do not see the shades of gray.


	3. Molly

**A/N:** So I'm setting this story to "completed". Not because I'm done; oh, far from it! But because I actually want people to READ THIS. And it's not getting read in the "work-in-progress" section. Of course, that could also be due to the lack of updates on my part. ANYHOO. Enjoy this new chapter. Also, if you want me to write from the point of view of a certain Black family member, please let me know and I'll do my best to accomodate your request!

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Where does it hurt?

Even if you fail every other part of motherhood, you can't fail this one. It's the question that leads to the tearful revelation of skinned knees, black eyes, and tummy aches. It's the discerning woman's guide as to which remedy to break out of the family vault. It's the sentence that fixes everything. Because once you know where you hurt, you can work to erase that hurt.

So I would like to believe.

I'm not a Black by name, but by blood. The Prewetts are cousins of the Blacks. Of course, we're "blood traitors", and so our names have been burnt off of the family tree. But it doesn't matter. We're still related. Sometimes I used to forget that. Sometimes I only pretended to forget it. Like when Sirius was being moody. Or when he was being immature. Or when he was... just being himself, I suppose. Oh, I know I was being too hard on him. I see that now. But back then it was just so easy to be angry with him. Because when I was angry with him, I wasn't frightened.

And then he died. And suddenly, the world seemed darker. And was it any wonder? The brightest star in the night sky went dark. Sirius had burnt out. And now all I had was fear, because there was no anger. Fear and guilt. Because we were family. Cousins. And I had relied on him. But I had never once told him exactly how much he had meant to me. And somewhere in the region of my heart, it hurt.

Well, it wasn't as if that hurt was new. It had just grown. It was there before. It was there since I found out that six of my children were all pitted against the one remainder. Since the remainder, the odd one out, began detesting, no, _hating_ his brothers and sister. Since my darling Percy turned his back on us, on his family, on me. And all I could think, as I listened to Fred and George shout at him and watched Arthur's face grow darker and darker, was that I had failed him. If only I had seen it sooner. If only I had stopped the fighting when it was just as simple as who rubbed dirt in whose nose. But I hadn't. And now I could never fix it.

And it hurt. More than anything.

It hurts right now, as I watch my youngest son and his two best friends, the children that might as well be my own. They sit off on their own, plotting their escape, their mission that no one except for everyone knows about. I don't let on that I see the hollowness in Harry's eyes, or the sheer terror on Hermione's face. I pretend not to notice that Ronny wants nothing more than to leave, leave his family behind and enter a hostile and evil world. I make sure that none of them see how much it kills me that they're going to leave me behind again. When they're all asleep, I go into the kitchen and cry over them, appeal to whatever gods there are for their safety. Just let them live, I beg. Let them survive this hell. Kill me, if you have to. I'd welcome it. Anything to stop the hurt. But let them live.

Where does it hurt? It hurts in my heart. In my soul. In my very being. But even if I could show you, you couldn't begin to stop the hurt. Nothing can.

Such is the lie of motherhood.


End file.
